A Series of Various Events
by WitsWrackspurts
Summary: Ron wasn't entirely sure what started the mental change in George, Harry would swear it was when he solved the case that had been left on the kitchen table but Ron would always swear that it as when George overdosed for the first time. No one could be sure. (A George is Sherlock story).
1. CHAPTER ONE

_**Holmes or Weasley?**_

The day was, in the best possible way, miserable. Dark grey clouds hung morbidly over the city of London, the city's skyscrapers clawing upwards as if seeking salvation from the bustling streets. People marching to their destinations, most clutching umbrellas in their hands and glancing upwards in apprehension.

A man looked at out the scene of people, it looked like something out of the start of a film. The man held a baby to his chest, small and dressed in pink, a little girl then. A shattering of glass resounded from within the kitchen of the flat, and the man at the window turned with a sigh.

"Sherlock?" he called out. "What have you done this time?

"Nothing, John!" The man, now identified as John, glanced down at the baby within his arms, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head slightly, John gently placed his daughter within her bassinet and strode into the kitchen. Looking around the kitchen, he couldn't help but to let out a startled laugh at the sight before him.

The walls of the kitchen was splattered, with a green slime but that wasn't what forced the laugh from his, no, it was the fact that Sherlock stood in his pyjamas in the middle of the room, his hair plastered to his forehead by the the slime, an intense look on his face as he studied a tube an orange substance.

"Sherlock," John began, "What are you doing? Mycroft is going to be here in an hour to drag us off to _wherever_ and you're not even dressed!"

Sherlock lifted his eyes to John, before refocusing on his experiment. "An hour? What are you talking about he's not meant to be here until Monday."

Setting his face in an endulging smile John returned, "It _is_ Monday, when was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep, John? Sleep is boring - I don't need sleep."

Shaking his head slightly at his friends self-destructive tendencies, John couldn't help but to recall that his friend had been like this for as long as he had known him -and longer if Mycroft were to be trusted. Despite all of Sherlock's destructive acts (not eating, smoking, not sleeping, etc.) only two of the times that Sherlock had been even more self-destructive than usual really stuck with him; when Sherlock was on drugs. John didn't think that he would ever be able to rid his mind of his friend on drugs, standing before him with pale skin, cheek bones protruding out from his face, skin drawn taut over them, what little fat he had was gone and his limbs trembling.

Inhaling deeply he responded, "Well, I forget that you don't need sleep, apparently. Get dressed Sherlock."

With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock retreated into his room, presumably to get dressed. Feeling a smile of amusement creep back onto his face, he moved back into the living room and double checked that he had everything packed in Rosamund's back.

It seemed so unfair that Mary would never get to-

"John."

"Mycroft, you're early."

"Never, I'm exactly on time. Now, where is that brother of mine?"

As if he was summoned, Sherlock entered the room, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt. "Ah," he began. "I thought I heard your mass blundering up the stairs."

Mycroft shot him a completely unimpressed look, "Always a pleasure, brother mine. Come, the car is waiting for us outside." And with that he turned on his heel and departed 221b.

John shrugged and collected Rosamund, glancing briefly at Sherlock's annoyed expression and then following Mycroft down the flat's stairs. He could hear Sherlock following him a moment later.

-0-0-0-0-

Sitting in a small space, such as the car they were currently in, with both of the Holmes brothers, John realised, was entirely too awkward. Both Mycroft and Sherlock seemed to be trying their hardest to ignore one another.

Almost as if he had sensed his thoughts, Mycroft spoke. "Sherlock," he paused momentarily, waiting to see if he had gotten his brother's attention. "After you have found out about our sister Euros, I feel that I am required to inform you of other information which others and I had planned on keeping from you."

Immediately, all of Sherlock's attention snapped to Mycroft, sharp grey eyes pinning him with an intense look. " _What?_ " he lowly, his voice going montone.

And with that, John couldn't help but to realise how much of an intruder he felt, he shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes," said Mycroft. "And in order to inform you of any of this, I want forget everything that you think you know about our childhood because _it's not real._ "

Sherlock stared uncomprehendingly at Mycroft and John felt a horrible twisting feeling in his gut -he felt sick.

"This is the reason that we are going where we are today. I wish to re-introduce you to what your life was originally, what it was like before you caused yourself to forget."

"How," began Sherlock. "Do I know that you are telling the truth?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

John found his voice, "Where exactly?" He sure as hell wasn't about to let Sherlock go into an unknown situation by himself.

"To Harry's." Was the simple reply.

"And, who, exactly is Harry?"

Mycroft smirked, "My best mate."

John couldn't help but to be taken aback, this was the most normal thing that he had ever heard Mycroft say and it was just too _common_ a term for Mycroft to use. But then again, before that moment, it had never even occurred to John that the British Government _had_ things like _friends_.

The car once again fell back into a stifling silence that was occasionally broken up by sniffles from Rosamund, the only difference this time being the fact that Sherlock sat with attention focused entirely on Mycroft.

-0-0-0-0-

For the next twenty minutes or so, they traveled in silence, moving further away from the centre of London until they came down a street of old victorian-style houses. The car then slowed down, eventually rolling to a stop outside two of the houses and John observed that number twelve appeared to be missing.

Mycroft spoke, "The address is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

And there, before John's eyes, a house seemed to unfold from between houses eleven and thirteen, before finally unfolding completely, a gleaming '12' on its door. John stared, and could only assume that Sherlock was doing the same because _a house just unfolded from nowhere._

Mycroft, just opened the car door and strode right up to the gate at the bottom of the house's garden and then paused, turning to face the car, he waved impatiently for them to join him. Sherlock clamoured out of the car with an unreadable expression on his face, leaving John to remove Rosamund from her chair. Breathing deeply, he joined the brothers at the gate.

Striding up to the front door, Mycroft removed some keys from his pocket, unlocking the front door, he strode into the house. Before John even had a chance to examine his surroundings, his attention was brought to the shouting of a man on one of the upper stories if the house.

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PUTTING DUNGBOMBS IN YOUR SISTER'S ROOM?" The exclamation was then followed by the laughter of a child. "EDWARD REMUS LUPIN DON'T LAUGH YOU'LL ONLY ENCOURAGE HIM!"

"Who is...?" John began, only to be interrupted by a small voice.

"That's dad, James is in trouble - again." Turning in the direction of the voice, John saw a boy (he looked around the age of nine) sitting on the stairs reading a book. "Hi, I'm Albus." He looked up then and John's eyes were immediately drawn to the boys -Albus'- eyes, they were green, almost unnaturally so and had a hidden intelligence to them.

"Ah," said Mycroft. "It's good to see you again Albus."

The boy's eyes lit up then and he exclaimed, "Uncle Ron!" before rushing over to Mycroft and hugging his legs. Despite the strangeness of a child hugging Mycroft's legs, John's mind seemed to freeze on the fact that Albus had just called Mycroft ' _Uncle Ron_ '.

However , before John could question the boy on why he had called Mycroft the wrong name, Albus had dashed off up the stairs after exclaiming that he needed to tell his dad that they were there.

As soon as Albus had left, Sherlock turned on Mycroft, " _Uncle Ron_?" he questioned skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Mycroft shot him an unimpressed look and then returning;

"It'll all be explained in a moment. Follow me."

Mycroft then walked down the hall and entered one of the rooms. Looking around the room, John noticed a large fireplace that had a fire burning away in, a TV was on one of the walls and another wall was dominated by books. In the room there were dark leather sofas, which looked ridiculously comfortable. Sitting down, Mycroft gestured for them to do the same.

Looking around briefly Sherlock spoke, "This is obviously a family's home, even an idiot could work that one out, however, what remains unclear is _why_ you brought us here."

Before Mycroft could respond, Albus came bounding into the room and sitting himself next to Mycroft, he was then followed by an older boy with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, who was then followed by another older boy with blue hair, whom held a girl who appeared younger than all of the boys, she had auburn coloured hair and the same startling green eyes as Albus. Finally, the man who could only be enigmatic Harry followed his children into the room.

"Ron," he smiled endearingly and John noticed the fact that he appeared rather tired. "What have I told you about just walking in? A little warning would be nice."

The man then turned to face John and Sherlock, a welcoming smile on his face, a smile which seemed to freeze when he took in Sherlock's appearance. "Oh." he exhaled.

"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "Oh."

"Teddy, James, Albus and Lily, go upstairs please."

"But-"

"No 'but's. Upstairs, now."

John watch as the children marched from the room. "I said upstairs," Harry spoke with a slightly raised voiced. "Not to stand in the hallway."

They sat in silence until they heard feet thundering up the stairs.

"Why," Sherlock began, his voice slightly irritated. "Did you bring me here? I could be doing more interesting then sitting in the living room of a stranger."

Mycroft answered, "Remember what I told you in the car? That is the reason you are here. I thought that it might help jog your memories slightly, however you do not recognise anything." he inhaled deeply. "Before you were Sherlock Holmes, you were known as George Weasley and I as Ron Weasley. You also used to have a twin brother, Sherlock, his name was Fred and he was killed." John stared at Mycroft disbelievingly, and then turned to look at Sherlock -or was it George now? He didn't know, he decided not to think too deeply about it- and noticed the fact that he had a pained look on his face.

"You were both inseparable, near impossible to tell apart. When Fred died you just kind of, well, _died_ with him. You were a shell of your former self, you then disappeared for a week and came back looking like you do now, you hated the fact that you saw him whenever you looked in the mirror. That was when the substance abuse started, for ages nobody realised that you were using, you hid it too well, but then you overdosed for the first time. It was horrible, everyone thought that you were going to die.

"Then you moved in with me and you just seemed to forget that everyone else existed, you seemed to create and entire new life for yourself. A new name, a new personality, a new look. You began to call yourself Sherlock and me, Mycroft. I indulged your delusions and then they just began to become more and more _real_. So, I took up the role of Mycroft Holmes, and eventually Mycroft and I were the same person. Just like how you are Sherlock Holmes."

"Eurus?" Sherlock questions, his face set in an unreadable expression. "Is she even my sister?"

"Yes," it was Harry that answered the question, and if his eyes were to be trusted, John thought that Mycroft looked rather relieved. "She was your sister, but her name is actually Ginevra or Ginny for short. She, um, used to be my wife. We're not entirely sure what happened but shortly after the birth of our youngest, Lily, she just seemed to go mad. She attacked me and our sons in the night with a knife -Albus still has a scar. She was then arrested, but after her many, _many_ escapes from prison, she was moved to Sherrinford."

Sherlock stared at Harry and questioned rather harshly, "Who are you?"

Harry smiled at him, "Harry Potter, the unwilling other half of the British government."

"Unwilling?" John asked.

"By the time I realised what I was, it was too late, I couldn't back back out."

"Everyone," Sherlock intervened. "You sad everyone. Who is everyone?"

Mycroft chuckled, "The rest of the Weasleys of course. I believe the best way to name them all would be to work backwards. There's Ginny, and then me, you, Percy, Charlie and then Bill."

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, " _You're lying._ " he hissed. "There is no way that it's true. _YOU'RE LYING!"_

And with that, he rose from his seat and left. "If it's true, he'll come around."

Mycroft hummed and Harry said, "I'm sure he will but is he more Holmes or Weasley."

Staring at Harry oddly, John rose from his seat and followed Sherlock out of the room.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 _ **Hello, it appears that I am the first of the WitsWrackspursts trio to upload! Anywho, this will be a gathering of Sherlock and Harry Potter Crossovers. I hope you enjoyed this one, I'm rather disappointed about the ending.**_

 _ **Favorite, Follow and Review!**_

 _ **~Basilisk.**_


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Two**

 _One Month._

It had been a mere month since the end of the end of the Wizarding war. Since Fred had died, and the only way that Ron could describe George was as an oxymoron. Outwardly, nobody would suspect just how severely Fred's death had affected him, he was all smiles and humour yet when you looked into his eyes, oh merlin, Ron felt as though he could feel George's deep-rooted despair.

Ron would be among the first to admit just how much he missed his brother -and he had 'the emotional range of a teaspoon'. However, what seemed to be the hardest fact for him to comprehend was the fact that there would no longer be _Fred-and-George_ or _Gred-and-Forge,_ Ron would also be the first to admit that he had always seen the twins as one entity. An entity that had always left laugher in its wake (and, _okay_ , his dreaded arachnophobia) but without Fred the entity had been destroyed, one half of a whole and every time that he looked at George he could feel the long, cold fingers of anguish clutching at his heart.

Yes, as he looked at George all he could see was an oxymoron and one part of a whole.

 _Three Months._

If Ron had the emotional range of a teaspoon, then George was emotionally stunted. It had been an awful three months since Fred's death and George was putting a declining amount of effort into expressing any emotion, and Ron feared that he was mimicking his elder brother at a faster rate. He had abandoned his dream of becoming an auror in order to help George get over the death of his twin, Percy had helped to begin with but he had soon returned to his desk job at the ministry. However, giving up his dream job only seemed to make George even more glum, causing him to wallow in his own self pity. And, if Ron was completely honest, he didn't really mind giving up on that dream -especially after seeing the state that Harry always returned in.

No, he didn't begin to follow George down the path of apathy until Hermione broke off their engagement -annoyed that he always spent his time either helping George or trying to feel _just a bit more_ like he used to fell with Harry. She claimed that he never had any time for her. She was probably right. But that didn't mean that it didn't _hurt_ when Hermione started dating Viktor Krum less than a month later. Personally, he would say that this was his catalyst that caused him to lose his belief in relying on other humans, that sentiment was a weakness.

Sentiment being a weakness seemed to become something akin to a catchphrase for him, it was something that he would constantly reiterate to his siblings and Harry; George seemed to agree with him, nodding his head in thought every time he said it; Percy wasn't around enough for him to say it to him; Charlie would just shrug and explain that he had his dragons; Bill would purse his lips and glance towards Fleur; Ginny would get a vacant look; but Harry would just look like Ron had just insulted him and inform him that love, and thus _sentiment_ , had kept him alive. Ron couldn't argue with him at that, he was right. However, out of all the people he had said it to, even after George began saying it as well, it was never mention around their mother. It would break her heart.

He should have noticed that he wasn't helping himself or George.

 _One Year._

George overdosed on drugs for the first time and Ron felt something inside of him _snap_.

Ron hadn't even known that George had been taking drugs, he had hidden his usage well as they had both been living in the flat above the shop at the time and Ron didn't know how to identify the symptoms. He could now. In fact, Ron hadn't even been the one to find him after he had overdosed, Harry had. Harry had been coming to announce the early completion of his first stage of auror training, coming to ask them if they wanted to go out for a drink to celebrate. He hadn't expected to find George's limp body sprawled across the ground and foaming slightly at the mouth.

Now, if Harry hadn't just completed his first stage of auror training, it was highly likely that he would have panicked in the situation that he had found himself in. However, Harry had completed his first stage of auror training and was able to keep a level head, meaning that he was able to deal with the situation that he had (quite literally) stumbled upon in the backroom of of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. From what he had informed Ron, Harry had hoisted George over his shoulder after checking his heart rate and airways, before stumbling over to the floo -as he was unable to disapparate within the store- and then flooded straight to St Mungos.

This was where Ron had found out what had occurred, he had been George's emergency contact -which was something that George had chosen not to inform him of. Once the healer had informed him that George was lucky to be alive, part of Ron just... _broke_ because _he would not lose yet another brother_ and he would _do anything to keep him alive._

Ron asked Harry how to identify if someone was using drugs. Harry had looked at him suspiciously for a moment, as though he knew why he was asking that of him; he probably did, Harry was strangely observant when it came to this kind of thing.

Harry agreed.

 _One Year And Six Months._

From what Ron could tell from the information that Harry had provided him with; George had not taken any drugs since the incident six months ago, but Ron wasn't entirely sure that he was off of them completely, George was too good an actor and Ron wasn't amazingly observant but he was getting better. After Harry had informed him of how drugs affect a person's appearance subtly (like how it changed the size of the pupil). As a result of this, Ron had begun to notice subtle things about people's appearances and how they could be used to identify information about said person. He would rant about all the things he noticed about their customers in the evenings -George would always smirk at the stories.

Eventually, deducing the customer's became a game that the two of them would play, who could deduce the most about the customers? They were a far from perfect duo, Harry would always chuckle at the stories they would come up with, and Ron would feel like he was getting a part of himself back. But then, George confronted him about wanting to change his appearance.

 _He didn't want to keep seeing Fred in the mirror._

And with that, Ron started looking for the magical for the job; he wouldn't allow some incompetent… _goldfish_ ruin his brother, he would no longer allow his brother to suffer; so he enlisted Harry's help in researching the various different wizards and witches to perform the task. After finding a witch to perform the task, George had to decide on what he was going to change his appearance to.

George had taken a while to decide what he wanted to change his appearance to (over a month) before finally deciding that he wanted to look completely unlike he currently did, Ron futility attempted to joke that he would look more like Harry's brother after the operation. Nobody laughed.

George went through with the operation and came out of it with dark, curly hair, enhanced cheekbones and crystal coloured eyes. Eyes which held happiness for once.

Ron knew that he would do _anything_ to keep his brother happy.

 _Two Years._

Ron left the joke shop. He had been working there for over two years and he left, finally feeling confident that George was no longer a danger to himself, and got a job at the ministry. However, he got bored of the lower position that he had in the ministry extremely quickly, he hadn't realised how incredibly _slow_ the average person was. Ron had spent the last _two years_ with George, slowly sharpening in intelligence to incredible speeds, failing to interact with anyone other than his brother and Harry in that period of time. Sure, Harry wasn't as good at deductions as him or George, but he was able to make simpler deductions, especially when it came to his own job, it was how he was able to reach higher positions so quickly after completing auror so quickly. But Harry was still better to talk to compared to the more _average_ people, and he wasn't at all resentful when Ron pointed out something that he has missed, instead chuckling under his breath and clapping Ron on the shoulder to show that there were no hard feelings.

Everything seemed fine.

And just like that George overdosed for the second time. Ron was the one who found George this time, he had swung the door of their flat open to announce his promotion, grinning stupidly until his eyes fell upon the prone body of his closest brother, eyes gazing blankly at the ceiling, needle still in his arm. When he was ask by the healer later, Ron was unable to recall how he got to St Mungos -only that he had to _keep George alive_.

Later, the Healer attending to George informed Ron that his brother had overdosed on some wizarding drug that had been increasing in popularity, _it's stronger than muggle drugs_ they informed him _it's easier to overdose on, especially if the user is using muggle dosage._ Ron had just stared blankly at George's pail body, their mother was bent over him sobbing, her shoulders trembling violently. It was all too much, Ron left.

That night, Ron ranted to Harry, who listened absentmindedly, having long since grown used to his best friend's rants, about how _he wasn't there_ and when Harry pointed out that he couldn't always be around, Ron swore that he would find away to.

And thus Ron began to climb the ladder in politics, slipping into the shadows.

He wondered how his younger self would have reacted.

 _Four Years._

George's memories began to slip away, shortly after Ginny announced that she was pregnant. He began to slowly lose interest in the joke shop. He also spent a lot of his time as high as a kite, no matter how many times Ron forced him into rehab -he made George keep a list of what he had taken, it wasn't ideal but it was the best they could do. Ron wasn't entirely sure what started the mental change in George, Harry would swear it was when he solved the case that had been left on the kitchen table but Ron would always swear that it as when George overdosed for the first time.

No one could be sure.

However, it first became obvious when George would no longer respond to his given name but instead would only respond to Sherlock; claiming that his name was William Sherlock Scott Holmes, he had no recollection of being called George Weasley. It was one of the easier changes to accept.

The next noticeable changes in George's, _Sherlock's_ mental state was when he began to refer to Ron as Mycroft, Ron rather liked the name so he allowed his brother to continue to refer to him as such. Perhaps he shouldn't've.

And then one of the most drastic changes occurred. He didn't recognise his own mother. Molly had been visiting them, something that she had become accustomed to do since her children have moved out, she had stepped through the the floo and was conversing with Ron when _Sherlock_ entered the room. He had taken one look at her and instantly dismissed her. And when she has attempted to greet him with a hug, he had pushed her away and questioned who she was. Something within their mother had just broke, she had fallen into inconsolable sobs. Ron had had to gently guide her to the floo and back to the burrow.

Ron hadn't missed _Sherlock's_ look of destain.

 _Four Years, Nine Months._

 _Sherlock_ seemingly vanished during the birth of Harry's and Ginny's first child. Ron had returned from the hospital after he was named godfather, to find their flat empty, stripped of his brother's possessions. However, Ron had been expecting this for a while, _Sherlock's_ memory had been rapidly deteriorating, being replaced with an alternate life that he had never lived.

Ron quickly found him in the muggle world, going under the title of consulting detective.

So, he settled into his role as Sherlock's elder brother: Mycroft, 'the British Government' for over a decade.

With a few memory charms, of course.

 _ **Righteo, I've decided to turn this into a multi-chaptered story.**_

 _ **What do you think?**_

 _ **Please inform me of any mistakes as I do not have a beta.**_

 _ **And a big thanks to my reviewer,**_ **CXMP 13** _**and those who have followed this story!**_ **Armed Truth** **,** **Bernadette Kaulitz** **,** **Ju du Nord** **,** **Pheobe Arocis** **,** **SecretSpells** **,** **Seravonjia d' Felys** **,** **daydreamer1008** _**and**_ **kt852521.**

 _ **-Basilisk.**_


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